


Freakiest Friday

by imunbreakabledude



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Bodyswap, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Halloween, Humor, One Shot, Smut, Threesome - F/F/F, kind of, this is very silly so buckle in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imunbreakabledude/pseuds/imunbreakabledude
Summary: The Friday before Halloween, Gemma, Eve, and Villanelle walk a mile in each other's shoes. Literally.
Relationships: Gemma/Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 28
Kudos: 65





	Freakiest Friday

Gemma wakes to a beam of sunlight, breaking through the gap in the curtains, as usual.

She always wakes up this way for two reasons. First of all, she’s a light sleeper, so she has little need for an alarm when the sun exists. Secondly, an alarm might wake her more heavily-sleeping girlfriends. Plural.

It’s Friday, which means Gemma needs to get out of bed and get ready for work. Usually, she manages the first phase of her routine alone. Typically, she’s exiting the shower by the time Eve and Villanelle stir, and she gives them a kiss on her way down to the kitchen for breakfast. For this reason, as well as the fact that she’s a lighter sleeper, Gemma sleeps on the left side of the bed.

This morning, she wakes in the middle.

As she blinks sleep from her eyes, she tries to recall the previous night. She’s quite sure she began the night on the left, as usual, so she must have somehow tossed and turned so much in her that she managed to switch places with Villanelle? She can apologize to the others for her restless sleep movements later. For now, she leans forward to give still-sleeping Eve a smooch on her bare shoulder, then rolls over to do the same to Villanelle.

Except it’s not Villanelle on the other side of her.

Instead, Gemma finds herself staring at her own face, resting on the pillow.

This must be a dream, right? Gemma blinks again, but the world remains steady, not the shifting, warping canvas of a nightmare, so she doesn’t know what to do. At least Eve is still here. Gemma nudges her unconscious body.

She prods Eve again. She doesn’t want to make too much noise, lest she wake the strange imposter, so she resorts to brute force until Eve finally, _finally,_ groans and stirs.

“Eve,” Gemma whimpers, “Something very strange is going on.” Her voice feels just a bit different than normal, but she has bigger things to worry about, like a doppelgänger next to her in her bed.

“You can say that again,” Eve says, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

Gemma points at the other Gemma, but Eve doesn’t seem to register this. She just stares at Gemma. Then she reaches out to pinch Gemma’s cheek. Pinch her _cheek_?! This is hardly the time for idle cuteness, so Gemma slaps her hand away.

As she does so, she notices her hand seems… not like her hand. She holds it up to her face. Her fingers seem longer than normal.

No, not merely longer than normal. She recognizes those hands.

She brings her hands up to her face, runs them through her hair. Pulls a lock into view. It’s blonde.

“Eve, what’s going on?!”

“I’m not Eve,” says Eve. “And you are not me.”

“You… you’re…” Gemma’s having trouble getting enough breath to form the words. “Villanelle?” she whispers.

“Afraid so,” Eve says. No, _Villanelle_ says. “Which probably means…”

Gemma looks back at Other-Gemma.

Oh, no.

After a few minutes of confusion that would rival Abbot and Costello’s “Who’s on First?” routine, they get a handle on the situation as it stands. Gemma has ended up in Villanelle’s body. Villanelle is in Eve’s, and Eve is in Gemma’s, so it would seem. Either that, or they’re all sharing one very strange lucid dream.

“This can’t be happening,” Eve groans. It’s a bit comical to hear her American accent coming out in Gemma’s higher-pitched voice, or at least it would be, if not for the severity of the situation. “Why is this happening?”

“We shouldn’t have pissed off that witch, I guess!” Gemma says. The other two roll their eyes.

“She wasn’t a witch. She was just someone dressed up,” Eve says.

“Why would she be dressed up two days before Halloween?!”

Gemma hazily recalls the previous night, when they’d gone out for pub trivia. It had a Halloween theme, as the bar was decked out for the whole pre-Halloween week, and everything was going well for the first few rounds, until they got the final question wrong and their biggest rivals, a team of young men from a local university, won the night. Gemma, Eve, and Villanelle had bickered the whole way home about who was most responsible for their second-place finish, which quickly turned into bickering about _everything else_.

They’re fortunate enough to have a largely harmonious relationship, but within the harmony, little things tend to get bottled up until they come out at a time like last night. After the trivia argument burned out, they ran through some of their greatest hits. Gemma remembers throwing a low blow at Villanelle over her job as an assassin – something she’d grudgingly accepted long ago, but never really felt comfortable with as much as Eve seems to. This, of course, prompted Eve to fire back at Gemma that she shouldn’t talk, because her job is so easy and silly, which is totally unfair and besides the point. Just as Gemma had been about to speak up about how difficult and important teaching is, Villanelle jumped in and called Eve a hypocrite because she picks and chooses when to be cool with the assassin thing. Eve insisted, “I’m not judging, I just worry,” and Villanelle started laughing and mocking her, pretending to be scared.

That was around the time they ran into the witch, Gemma thinks. It was unclear if she was in costume or just a poor homeless woman, but she was haggard and drinking something green out of a glass bottle and she stepped in front of the arguing trio and started ranting about “understanding” and “walking a mile in her shoes”.

“I knew she was a real witch,” Gemma murmurs. It’s a stupid explanation, to be sure, but however it happened, the fact remains they are all in the wrong bodies. “What do we do?”

Almost a minute passes while they each ponder on how to reverse a magic spell that they aren’t really sure of the origins of in the first place.

Finally, Villanelle breaks the silence. “I think we should have sex.”

This earns her two smacks on both sides.

“Villanelle!”

“Get serious!”

“Come on, we were all thinking it!” Villanelle protests. “Besides, maybe it is the way to change back.”

Eve and Gemma both have to pause to consider that for a moment.

Gemma shakes the thought off. “We can’t do that _now_ ,” she declares. “It’s Friday! I have to go teach!”

“You mean _Eve_ has to go teach,” Villanelle says, pointing.

Of course. Gemma can’t very well show up to school like this. Or could she? Pretend to be “Kim”, the substitute teacher… but then they’d still think _Gemma_ was playing hooky.

“Can’t you just call in sick?” Eve says. She’s clearly not thrilled at the prospect.

“No,” Gemma says. “I’ve used all my allotted days already for that trip we took to Spain in September.”

“That was a good trip, though,” Villanelle sighs.

“The bottom line is I _need_ to show up today,” Gemma declares. “Someone who looks like me, that is.”

“Okay,” Eve says. “You’re teaching _Jane Eyre_ right now, yeah? I read that, once. I can bullshit my way through a lesson or two.”

“Teaching’s a little bit more than just going over the plot. You have to help the children to think. To understand. To _question_ ,” Gemma says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eve waves her off. “All that English class crap. I’ll manage. Don’t worry about it.”

Gemma resists the urge to fight about Eve’s obvious dismissal of the difficulty of her job, for time is of the essence. “We need to start getting you ready. You’ve got to leave by half seven.”

“Slow down. Both of you are forgetting the most important thing, as usual,” Villanelle drawls as she scoots to the edge of the bed. “Eve sounds nothing like you.”

“I wasn’t trying, yet!” Eve snaps as she rifles through the wardrobe. “Of course I can do an English accent,” she adds, in her best attempt.

Villanelle and Gemma exchange a glance at the mangled mess.

“It’s okay if you don’t have my natural talent, but maybe I can coach you a bit,” Villanelle says. “Listen up. British boot camp from the accent master.”

“Is this really necessary?” Eve says as she grabs one of her favorite pair of slacks and starts tugging them over her legs – Gemma’s legs. Gemma bites her lip, debating if she should step in.

Meanwhile, Villanelle’s in demonstration mode. “Eve, repeat after me. ‘Asschume’.”

“Asshume.”

Gemma elects to sit this one out.

“Close.” Villanelle scrunches up her face. “It’s more crunchy though. ‘Shed-you-ule’.”

“Sked-youle.”

“Schewpid.”

“Okay, I think I get it,” Eve says as she slides her arms into her shirt. “Schewpid!” she shrieks.

“I don’t sound like that!” Gemma protests.

“I don’t sound like that!” Eve mimics.

“Good!” Villanelle laughs. “You’re getting it!”

“No, she’s not!” Gemma stamps her foot, prompting Eve to do the same, having a grand old laugh at her expense.

“Whenever you’re in doubt, Eve, just start talking really high like she does when she’s upset and no one will be able to understand you anyway.”

“Oh, good looking out,” Eve replies as she struggles to button her shirt. Her accent drops as she curses to herself. “Goddamn… fucking…”

“That’s not going to work,” Gemma sighs, and comes up behind Eve. “You’ve got to wear something of mine, silly.” She reaches into the closet and pulls out one of her go-to work outfits, a red dress in a floral print.

“No offense, but that’s not really _me,_ ” Eve says.

“ _You’re_ not really you,” Gemma says. “And if you show up at the school in trousers, all my colleagues will know something’s wrong straight away.”

“Fine,” Eve grumbles. “But I’m not wearing stockings.”

Gemma just answers this with a smile.

Eve whines, “This is so _schewpid_.”

“Nice!” Villanelle pipes up.

Eve stands miserably while Gemma helps her out of the ill-fitting clothes. She runs her hands over Eve’s back… her back… and it’s a weird perspective shift; her normal getting-ready routine but with the view all wonky. She instinctively adjusts the straps on her bra; Eve did them up a little too tight – she’ll thank Gemma later.

As soon as Eve’s dressed, she presents herself. “Well? Do I pass?” She spins around.

Gemma stares at herself, and it’s downright spooky. When Eve was drawling in her American accent and trying to force herself into one of her own outfits, it was almost less strange, because it was so clearly unusual. Now, Gemma stares at herself in front of her, and it’s a real out-of-body experience. More unsettling is the fact that she’s looking _down_ at herself.

It’s too much to deal with, and the clock tells her it’s 7:03. “You need to hurry,” she murmurs, and takes Eve by the hand. “Come get breakfast.”

She grabs a robe from the closet and slips her arms through it while she ushers Eve out of the bedroom. Too late, she notices it’s her robe, so it barely covers her arse in Villanelle’s taller frame. But there’s no time to worry about that.

Villanelle scrambles out of bed and scampers behind them. “No,” Eve snaps. “Put some clothes on.”

“I’m in my own house,” Villanelle whines.

“I don’t want to stare at my own naked body while I eat breakfast, thank you.”

“Why not?”

“Hurry up and put something on!” Gemma reaches back into the closet and tosses another robe at Villanelle – her favorite, with the tigers.

It’s easier to keep it together while she has a task to do, so Gemma focuses intently on the small problems. Things she can solve. Fry some eggs for Eve; she can’t teach on an empty stomach. Once she plops down the plate in front of Eve, the next task is to feed Pompom, too, because the poor boy has no idea what’s going on, but he’s mewling for his breakfast, too.

Throwing herself into the tasks staves off the psychological horror, at least, though it highlights the physical. Every daily task is just a bit different, ten centimeters higher off the ground. It’s like she’s in her tallest heels, though her feet are flat on the floor.

She instinctively rocks onto her tip-toes as she reaches into the cabinet to grab the cat food, but finds that it’s easily within her reach. Although it’s a fresh bag, nearly full, it feels lighter than ever in her hands as she pulls it down and pours a portion into Pompom’s bowl.

He scurries over at the sound, ready to chow down, though he pauses when he comes face to face with Gemma, still crouching on the floor.

“Mr. Pomegranate,” Gemma whispers. “It’s me.”

Pompom mewls back with indifference.

“It’s Mummy. Can’t you tell?”

He twitches his whiskers and starts biting at his food, as if to say, _“Why are you making such a big deal out of feeding me once, lady? I know who_ really _takes care of me, and it isn’t you.”_

“I know I look different right now, but it’s me feeding you, same as always!” Gemma cries, and collapses onto her hands and knees.

Her arse is hanging out, she can feel it. It all feels just a little off, and she thinks it would be better in a way to be in an even stranger situation, in a man’s body perhaps. But this, this is so close to normal and yet not, it’s splitting her brain in two. Here she is on the floor, but she’s about to head off to work only, it’s not her heading off the work, and who will teach the children _Jane Eyre_?

“Should we intervene?”

“I think we have to.”

Crying into her hands on the kitchen floor, Gemma hears a voice down on her level. Eve’s voice. “Hey, Gemma.”

Wait. Eve’s voice. _Villanelle._

“Don’t look at me.”

“It’s okay if you’re overwhelmed. This is weird for all of us. How about getting up off the floor, first?” Gemma feels strong hands pulling at her by the shoulders, but she doesn’t want to go. She curls up tighter.

“I’m stronger than I thought,” Villanelle groans. “Come on, Gemma.” She wraps her arms around Gemma and tries to lift her, then cries out.

“Careful,” comes Eve’s voice, across the room. “I have a bad back.”

“I’ll say,” Villanelle mutters. “Look, Gemma, can you get up already before I ruin this old lady’s back?”

“Hey!”

Gemma sniffs and sits up. There’s Villanelle, well, Eve, well, _Villan-Eve_ , kneeling beside her in her tiger robe, clutching her lower back.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, right?” Villanelle says. “How about going to take a shower? That always makes me feel better.”

Gemma nods slowly, and moves like a ghost as Villanelle ushers her back upstairs. “But what about Eve,” she murmurs. “She’s not ready…”

“Don’t worry about Eve. She is very smart.”

“But she doesn’t know–”

“Shh,” Villanelle coos, while she turns the shower on to the hottest setting. “Feel that steam? Stay in there for ten minutes and you’ll come out feeling better. I’ll even set a timer, here.” She sets up a timer on her phone and places it on the sink.

Gemma has to admit, the shower seems even more enticing that normal. Villanelle reaches around Gemma’s waist and unknots the belt of her robe. Gemma shifts, clutching it shut, at first, then wonders why. Villanelle’s seen her naked plenty of times, obviously; they’ve even showered together. Even more to the point, this is Villanelle’s own body, she’s seen it every day of her life. So why does Gemma feel like she has to hide it?

She lets the robe slip off, and Villanelle takes a quick look up and down. Checking herself out. Of course she is. Gemma’s a little jealous on her own behalf, but also flattered.

Then she steps into the shower, and it’s bliss. The weirdness can’t reach her in here.

Okay, maybe it comes through in a few ways. The shower stream hits her ribcage rather than her collarbone, which throws her off at first, but it’s so comfortable she doesn’t care. She could’ve stood in there forever, if not for the timer Villanelle set buzzing after the allotted ten minutes. Then, all of Gemma’s anxiety comes creeping back, and she wraps herself in a towel and runs downstairs to see if she can catch Eve and give her a few more tips before she embarrasses Gemma at school.

She hears snatches of conversation as she approaches.

“You’ve got to come up with something. This is _Gemma_ we’re talking about.”

“All she will have to do is follow my instructions. I will talk her through it.”

As Gemma reaches the bottom step, both Eve and Villanelle both turn to face her immediately.

“Talk me through what?”

* * *

Villanelle waits about twenty seconds to make sure that Gemma’s happy in the shower, which of course she is, because Villanelle knows her body, and her body likes a scalding hot shower first thing on a work day. She swings by the bedroom quickly to fetch something from the back her nightstand drawer, then heads downstairs.

She shuffles down the stairs one foot at a time because every step makes her back ache. She knew Eve was older than her, but she looks so good… _this_ is what being old feels like? Villanelle makes a mental note to die young if that’s the case.

She returns to the kitchen to find Eve polishing off the last bit of her eggs. Eve in Gemma’s body is a beautiful paradox. It takes everything in Villanelle not to laugh at the sight, for even though Eve is dressed in Gemma’s clothes, she’s so obviously a different person to Villanelle, who is not only trained to recognize subtle body language cues, but she’s also in love with both of them. Eve is hunched low, reading the news on her phone, whereas Gemma always sits with perfect posture and wants to make conversation over a meal. Eve has pushed up the sleeves on her cardigan, too, which Gemma would _never_ do as it pulls the knit out of shape.

Villanelle sits down across from Eve and reaches out to snatch the last piece of bacon from her plate.

“Hey!”

“Don’t blame me,” Villanelle mumbles while she chews. “Your body made me do it.”

Eve is fuming, but she knows she can’t protest, because that is one of her classic moves.

“We have a problem,” Villanelle says, then pulls out a postcard and slides it across the table.

Eve’s eyes widen. “No way. You’ve got to be kidding.”

“It is a little funny, but I’m sadly not joking. It has to be today.”

“Can’t you postpone?”

“My bosses do not like delays.”

“So what are you going to do? Go do it as you are? I mean, as I am?” Eve scrunches up her face into her trademark look of confusion, recognizable even on Gemma’s face. “You know what I mean.”

“My bosses also don’t like the look of someone who does not work for them going in and doing my job. And you know how they show their displeasure?”

Eve knows. Of course. Her fingers do a nervous dance on the table, digging her nails into her palm – another clue it’s Eve, no matter what body she’s in.

Villanelle reaches out her hand and places it on top of Eve’s. “I don’t want her to be dead, and I really don’t want _my body_ to be dead.” Villanelle sighs. “There is no getting around it. It has to be her.”

“You’ve got to come up with something,” Eve hisses. “This is _Gemma_ we’re talking about.”

“All she will have to do is follow my instructions. I will talk her through it.”

“Talk me through what?”

They both freeze. Eve stares at Villanelle. Villanelle readies herself with a big grin before turning to Gemma, standing there in a towel with a look of genuine worry that Villanelle has to admit is even better than the one she spent years practicing in the mirror. She makes a note of it for the future.

“Don’t freak out,” Villanelle says, as she gets up and walks over to Gemma. “You are going to do a teeny tiny assassination today. It’s going to be great!”

She also makes a note of the genuine panic Gemma shows on her face. It’s good. She files it away.

Gemma runs back into the shower, after that.

“Look at the bright side,” Villanelle says while she walks Eve out to the car. “She’s not worried about _you_ anymore.”

“Yeah, well, now I’m worried about the both of you,” Eve says. “Shit, this is a disaster. I can’t leave you two alone. I should just call in. Paid sick leave or not, if I tell them I’m puking out my guts, they’ll understand.”

“No.” Villanelle shakes her head. “If you don’t go to work for her, it will put Gemma over the edge. Please, just go. As long as you’re there, she can believe one thing is going fine, even if it’s not.”

“Hey! Don’t you think I’m going to do a good job?”

Villanelle pauses.

“Have fun at school!”

Villanelle slaps the car roof and then runs back in the house before Eve can argue more. Truthfully, it’s not so much a run as a lopsided limp – her back _really_ hurts.

She hears the shower running again. Good. Let Gemma stay in there until the hot water runs out. It will help her. Meanwhile, Villanelle has got to do something about this back pain. She grabs the heating pad from the downstairs closet, the one that Gemma uses for her cramps.

Then, she sets up on the couch. It’s hard to find the right position, but on her stomach, propping up her front with pillows, with the heating pad on full blast on her back seems to be most comfortable, or more accurately, least painful.

Villanelle is beginning to understand why Eve is so grumpy all the time.

While Villanelle waits, she remembers there is one other trick that may help alleviate pain, while she’s sitting here… She squirms around a bit so that she can shift one arm underneath her and stick her hand between her legs. She knows what Eve likes well enough, doesn’t she?

She closes her eyes and tries to get into it, but a moment later opens them as she feels paws on her back. “Get off, stupid furball!”

Pompom hops up on top of the couch and then slinks around to the arm to look Villanelle in the face.

“I know Eve is your favorite, but she’s not in at the moment,” Villanelle says. “Do you want to hear it in French, cat? _Eve n’est pas là_.”

Pompom stares at her for a moment, then seems to get the message and leaps away.

Finally, Villanelle can focus. Although… French felt kind of sexy in Eve’s mouth. She tries some more.

“ _Hello, my name is Eve Polastri_ ,” she says in French, while she returns to rubbing up against herself. “ _I am a beautiful widow in need of assistance_.”

It’s kind of working. It’s not hard, per se, but forming each vowel and consonant feels a bit different in the shape of Eve’s mouth, not to mention the way the sounds come out in Eve’s lower, huskier tone. It’s so delightful, Villanelle continues with every other language in her arsenal.

She’s experimenting with a mix of Korean and Italian, also exploring the pitch range of Eve’s voice, and she’s so fucking close when–

“What’s going on? Are you having a seizure? Should I call an ambulance?”

Gemma finished her shower.

“I am just trying to relieve some pain,” Villanelle groans and sits up. Her back feels a little better, but now she’s mad at how Gemma just ruined her climax.

Gemma’s dressed, now, and at least she learned from correcting Eve; she’s wearing Villanelle’s own clothes. She selected a warm color-blocked sweater and a pair of simple high-waisted pants. Even though the outfit looks perfect on her body (of course, Villanelle only owns clothes she looks perfect in), somehow Gemma’s discomfort in pants shines through.

Villanelle stands, noting that she can walk without stabbing pains now, an improvement. She walks over to Gemma and takes her hands, nervously clasped at her front, and guides them to the pockets of her pants. “There. Free confidence.”

Gemma slides her hands into her pockets, still awkward at first, then her face melts from confusion into comfort. Of course it feels natural.

“Not so hard.”

“But what about–“

“Shh,” Villanelle puts a hand to Gemma’s lips. It’s kind of fun to talk to her own face. Like a fantasy in the mirror, except now she’s looking up at her face. God, Eve is so short. “We are going to do this one step at a time. My body knows what to do. So if you listen to my brain, too, you will be fine.”

“But what am I going to…” Gemma’s voice rises in pitch, the way it does when she’s stressed. “Am I going to have to shoot someone?”

“Don’t worry. I have the just the thing. I keep it in case of emergencies. Something I would never use myself because it is very boring, but it will be perfect for you.”

Villanelle leads Gemma upstairs, to the room that is called her “study”. Really, it’s a big arsenal of all her equipment. It’s all hidden in secret compartments behind bookshelves and picture frames and clothing, as Gemma insisted when they moved in. “I can make my peace with your job as long as I don’t have to see it in plain sight,” she had said. Well, today she is going to get a really good glimpse of Villanelle’s job, whether she likes it or not. A front-row seat.

Villanelle stands on her tip-toes to reach the watercolor painting of a laughing baby up on the top corner of the wall. Behind it is a hollow compartment with a small, sealed container. She pulls it down and opens the lid to reveal a small vial of clear liquid and a syringe, encased in a black sponge.

“Lethal injection,” Villanelle says. “Good enough for the government; good enough for you.”

“You keep this in here all the time?!” Gemma squeaks. “What if we had kids?”

“We don’t.”

“But what about Pompom?”

“You think the cat would climb up to the top of the wall, push the frame aside, open the box, load this syringe and inject himself?”

“Maybe!” Gemma shrieks. “He’s clever!”

“Look, if you want to worry, you should at least worry about more dangerous things. Like the knives, and guns, and the battle-axe.”

“Where are– never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes and presses the vial and injector into Gemma’s hands. “All you have to do is get close to the guy. You start up a conversation and act sweet. I know you can do it. And then you stick him and push the plunger. It will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack. Then you walk away. That’s all.”

Gemma looks down at the vial. “That seems manageable…”

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Villanelle says. “Except the actual murdering. You have to do the murder, or else we will all be in very deep, stinky shit.”

Villanelle has to dress herself before they go out, and she takes great pleasure in being able to play dress-up with Eve. She ends up selecting a deep navy suit with a thin gold chain necklace. She would’ve spent about an hour working on her hair if not for the restless mewling coming from downstairs, from both the cat and the nervous assassin-in-training.

Still, she’s proud that she earns a quiet “wow,” and a jaw-drop when she descends the stairs.

“I know,” Villanelle says as she spins around to give the full view. “I got this for Eve months ago but she never wore it. I keep telling her she needs to let me pick out all her clothes.”

“You have an ally now,” Gemma says.

“We will revisit that argument another time. And I’m holding you to that,” Villanelle says. “Shall we?”

Villanelle drives, since Gemma is still a bit of a nervous wreck, to put it mildly. She’s trying her hardest to put on a brave face but Villanelle is beginning to worry a bit that she won’t be able to go through with it.

She catches herself. Worrying? Villanelle doesn’t _do_ that. She doesn’t _worry._ Or at least not about silly things. “Worry” is reserved for truly concerning situations, like being cornered by a team of Russian sharpshooters with no weapons and no escape route.

She pushes that annoying feeling down as they go set up at the café where the target – CEO of one of the largest investment groups in the UK – stops on his lunch break every day. Villanelle did all this research preparing for the kill, of course. What she found was that this man, Walter Jones, came down to the café to get his own coffee every day so that he could brag in interviews about how he didn’t make assistants do his grunt work. Never mind how he had thousands of underpaid employees doing everything else for him, but getting his own coffee was a good photo op. The stupidest part was that the lazy con _worked_ on the press. Interviews framed him as a benevolent boss, but little did they know that he’d managed to draw the ire of people in powerful places, and today, he is about to pay for it.

Villanelle had planned something a little cheekier, like slipping a bit of razor wire in his coffee so it’d tear his guts up from the inside and he’d choke on his own blood. But that would be a bit too gory for Gemma, so that will have to go back in the toy box for another time.

They’re a little early, so Villanelle orders herself an espresso and Gemma a hot tea. Then, upon further thought, she swaps the two cups. Gemma wrinkles her nose as the espresso at first, but Villanelle nods at her. She downs it in one gulp.

“You have the injection?”

Gemma rolls up the right sleeve of her sweater to show where the needle is tucked against her arm. Good.

“Here he comes.” Villanelle nods subtly as a man of about fifty with a tinge of silver in his hair and an expensive-looking suit enters the café. “Remember what we talked about. Simple. Easy. No worries.”

Gemma looks like she contains quite a number of worries, but with one more nudge, she stands. That espresso should be kicking in about now.

Meanwhile, Villanelle’s phone buzzes. It’s Eve. She picks up.

“How’s my other favorite working girl?”

“I’m fine. How is it going?”

“It’s fine here too,” Villanelle lies, as she watches Gemma walk up to Walter and bump right into him. Literally bumps right into him. Villanelle rubs her temple.

“Really?” Eve says, as if she can hear the exasperation coming through in Villanelle’s voice. Shit, maybe she _can_. It’s her own voice, after all. She knows it well.

“It’s great,” Villanelle insists. “I’m watching her do it right now. Shouldn’t you be teaching?”

“It’s lunch,” Eve says. “And I needed a minute away from all those kids. Do you realize how insane it is to spend an entire day with children? They’re everywhere.”

“Yes, that is how teaching works, Eve.”

“I don’t need that sarcasm right now, it’s been a really hard morning, and…” Eve’s voice chokes off into a squeak.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ll call you back,” Eve says, suddenly using her attempted English accent. Then the call goes dead.

Oh well. No time to worry about that, because Gemma’s in the thick of it now. She’s chatting with Walter, and he’s smiling and nodding. Of course he is; a man like him would never turn away attention from a beautiful, younger woman. _You’re in position, Gemma, now pull out the syringe…_

She’s not pulling out the syringe.

She’s chatting. Still. Chatting like a single mother who ran into an old friend at the supermarket.

Villanelle drums her fingers on the table. She’s out of earshot, but imagines what on Earth Gemma could even prattle on about for so long. She’s not the strongest improviser.

Then Gemma reaches out her arm – Villanelle’s arm – and grasps the man’s shoulder. Not just his shoulder… She strokes his bicep.

She’s flirting with a man. Villanelle’s _girlfriend_ is flirting with a man. Using Villanelle’s body.

Three different kinds of jealousy surge through her veins, and Villanelle isn’t entirely sure whom she wants to murder in this situation. She has to do something, doesn’t she? Gemma’s about to mess this all up, since she seems to have forgotten her objective is to kill the man and not get him to buy her dinner.

What can Villanelle do here? She tries to think, think, but already something’s wrong. Normally she wouldn’t think; her body always tells her what to do in a situation like this. She doesn’t think, she simply acts. And her body is always right.

Eve’s body has no idea what’s going on, but it’s panicked. Villanelle feels her pulse start to race, her throat start to tighten, her armpits start to sweat. It’s unfamiliar. It’s unpleasant. Is this what Eve is always whining about?

Then Gemma’s got her whole arm around him, and sweaty pits or not, Villanelle scoots her chair back and stands, ready to do something about it. But then Gemma’s letting him go, waving goodbye, and walking away. Back towards Villanelle. And in the background, Walter falls to the ground.

The look in her eyes is familiar; Villanelle recognizes it well although she seldom has a mirror handy right as she completes a job (though, there’s an idea for the future…).

“When you do your work…” Gemma asks, “Does it always feel… like that?” Her voice has dropped an octave, closer to… well, closer to Villanelle’s voice. Her eyes are wide; her mouth is slightly parted. Her breathing is heavy enough to be audible.

“Yes.” Villanelle takes her face in her hand. Was her jaw always this tense? Was her cheek always this soft?

“I want…” Gemma says, and trails off. Her brain can’t find the words, but the look in her eyes is clear.

“I want, too,” Villanelle breathes. Now Gemma takes her face, chin in one hand, with the other on the small of her back.

_Wow._

It’s probably for the best that Eve’s body has just enough shame to stop her, because Gemma looks ready to take her right there.

“Let’s get home,” Villanelle says. “Quickly.”

* * *

Eve has never been so hyperconscious of herself.

She used to roll her eyes at women like Gemma. If she’s being honest, she used to rolls her eyes at Gemma herself, too. Well into their relationship. Maybe even a little bit last night. Or a lot.

Eve’s not a perfect person, okay? She can admit that.

So maybe she might’ve gotten heated after trivia and said some choice words about Gemma’s job.

Eve says nice things about Gemma plenty often. Why couldn’t a crazy street-witch be snooping in on any of their _nice_ conversations?

Well, here she is. Some would call it karma. If it’s the universe teaching her a lesson, Eve would like to say she got the point after ten minutes. But here she is. Teaching her third lesson of the day. And not an iota less self-conscious than she was when she first stepped into the school building.

Eve is proud to not give a fuck. Not constantly worry over her looks, her presentation. She looks good, she knows it. She gets dressed, takes a look, and doesn’t worry about it the rest of the day.

But today there are so _many_ things to be conscious of.

She didn’t do her makeup as heavily as Gemma normally does. As a result, three different teachers asked her if she was sick or said she looked “tired”. That was just before lunch.

She’s felt bunching and slipping in her stockings all day, and she can only adjust them so many times before she starts to attract concerned stares. She wishes for the hundredth time that she had just left the house in pants and confidently insisted to all of Gemma’s coworkers she was trying out a new style.

But the stockings are nothing compared to the _breasts_.

It was fun and games at the start, but after three hours on her feet teaching, her back aches like never before. It’s all she can do to stop from compulsively pulling at the straps, trying to adjust the ladies into a more comfortable position. When she takes a loo break and makes an in-depth adjustment attempt, she finds, much to her dismay, that there exists _no_ such position.

While she teaches, she’s hyperconscious of her voice in a way she never has been. Obviously, since she’s trying to fake a convincing accent, but also… pitch. It comes out so high that it feels wrong. She keeps glancing around, monitoring the students’ reactions to each syllable for feedback on how she’s doing. Do they look suspicious? Ought she to go even higher?

All this makes it very hard to focus on trying to teach a coherent lesson about _Jane Eyre_. Oh well. The students will manage. Gemma will clear up any questions they have on Monday.

That is, if they’re back to normal by Monday.

Which reminds Eve that they have absolutely no idea how to undo whatever has been done, and no idea of where to even _start_ except for Villanelle’s inappropriate suggestion… Tightness builds in her chest, and she doesn’t think it’s her bra being uncomfortable this time. Finally, mercifully, the bell rings signaling the end of class and the start of lunch, and Eve books it outside before even assigning any homework. Let the kids have the weekend off, celebrate Halloween.

She runs out the nearest exit and loops around to the back of the school, by the dumpsters. It’s a chilly fall day, so she pulls her cardigan tighter around her while she paces and calls Villanelle.

Villanelle greets her entirely too happily. “How’s my other favorite working girl?” Eve doesn’t like it; Villanelle sounds unnaturally chipper in Eve’s voice.

“I’m fine,” Eve replies. “How is it going?”

“It’s fine here too,” Villanelle replies, but Eve can practically the tightening in her throat that means she’s definitely lying.

“Really?”

“It’s great. I’m watching her do it right now. Shouldn’t you be teaching?”

“It’s lunch,” Eve says. “And I needed a minute away from all those kids. Do you realize how insane it is to spend an entire day with children? They’re everywhere.”

“Yes, that is how teaching works, Eve.”

Eve paces along the side of the building. “I don’t need that sarcasm right now, it’s been a really hard morning, and…”

She stops dead in her tracks. Two boys are crouched behind one of the dumpsters, eating their lunch and playing on their phones. She recognizes them from one of her morning classes. They stare up at Eve, wide-eyed.

“What’s wrong?” Villanelle asks on the other end.

Eve clears her throat and slips back into her her Gemma-voice. “I’ll call you back.”

“Uh,” one of the boys says. “Hello, Miss Pierson.”

“Hello,” Eve says. After dropping the accent for one short conversation, it’s hard to find it again. She remembers Villanelle’s advice and raises her pitch to compensate. “Why are you boys back here? Shouldn’t you be in the cafeteria?”

“We like a bit of fresh air,” the other boy says. “Please don’t get us in trouble.”

“I won’t…” Eve pauses. “Did you hear anything just now?”

“You mean you talking all American-like?” The first boy says, glancing down at his phone like it’s no big deal.

Oh no. Damage done.

Eve could walk away and hope the boys don’t say anything. They don’t seem particularly interested… or they didn’t, until they noticed how her face must’ve reddened. Eve suspects she’s a bright pink right now, if the heat on her cheeks is anything to go by.

“Is that something you didn’t want anyone to hear?” The boy nudges his companion. “Something that maybe, you won’t tell on us so we don’t tell on you?”

Stupid precocious kids. Eve wants to scream. This is all so stupid. She shouldn’t be at this school, she shouldn’t be in this body, and she shouldn’t be getting blackmailed by two fourteen-year-old boys.

Stupid problems require stupid solutions.

Eve drops the voice, drops her posture, drops everything. “Look, kids. Can you keep a secret?”

The boys nod eagerly.

“I’m not Miss Pierson. Never have been.” Such a bold statement might raise more suspicion if not for how Eve is so clearly a different person than the teacher they know, so the boys seem invested. “I’m Special Agent Tallulah Shark with the CIA. I’m undercover on a very secret mission to foil a plot to assassinate the Queen.”

The first boy furrows his brow. “Why would America be trying to protect the Queen?”

“We’re real nice, that’s all,” Eve says. “Now you two can’t breathe a word of this or else the Operation will be ruined. Is that understood?”

The boys stare blankly.

“Answer me, soldiers! Do you want the queen to die!?”

“No, ma’am,” they sputter.

“So you will keep this under wraps?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The rest of the day passes excruciatingly slowly but without event. Eve gets a few more odd looks but manages to throw them off with a few high pitched “Thank you”s and “How lovely!”s.

Finally, the day ends and Eve drives home fast as she can. No more acting sweet and polite, she drives like an asshole, like Eve. She cuts off three other cars and gives two other drivers the finger on the ten-minute drive home.

As she walks up to the door, she doesn’t even want to think about the impending discussion of how they’ll reverse their situation. She doesn’t even care so much abut which body she’s in right now, so long as she can get some food in it, and also demand that _somebody_ rub her back because it’s screaming in pain.

She finds the door already unlocked.

“Hello? Villanelle? Gemma?”

As Eve pokes her head into the living room, a rather shocking sight greets her.

Villanelle is on the couch, facing the door. Her sweater is strewn on the floor, and she’s only in her bra. And she’s straddled atop a very naked Eve on the couch.

It’s like Eve has stepped into a dream she had a few years ago, ashamed as she is to admit she had those sorts of dreams about the assassin she was tasked to catch. Still, those dreams didn’t usually have her in a third-person perspective.

Eve blinks a few times, staring at the image that seems like a hallucination.

The Eve in front of her is moaning in pleasure. “Yes, Gemma, you’re so good. Yes!”

 _Oh._ Just like that, Eve remembers, and the scene clicks into focus.

“So I guess the job went well then,” she mutters, but both Gemma and Villanelle are too busy to even register. They don’t even notice Eve’s presence.

Eve drops her bag and kicks off her shoes. Still no welcome from those on the couch; Gemma’s too busy with her fingers inside of Villanelle. Then Villanelle takes Gemma’s other hand, and brings it up to her own throat. Eve’s throat.

Heat blossoms across Eve’s chest. Watching is… a new experience. What she sees and what she knows are in conflict. Can that really be Gemma, timid Gemma, in that lithe body, bearing down on the woman beneath her like a lion on its prey? And can that really be Villanelle, keening in pleasure, begging to be ruined, crying out for more pressure on her neck?

It may be strange, but what Eve feels presents yet another story. Her own body is trying to tell her something, and it’s about time she listens. Clutching onto the wall for support, Eve slips a hand underneath her dress, for the first time genuinely thankful she’s not in pants. What easy access! Tentatively, she starts to touch herself, and it’s same-different. Mechanically, more or less the same, but the sensation is… indescribably different. But her fingers know what to do, moving in small but persistent waves that bring a tingling sensation throughout Eve’s whole core.

Gemma’s building speed, and pressure. Her hair falls in a golden wave in front of her, so it brushes onto Villanelle’s face. Eve imagines the tickle. Every gesture she sees is like deja vu. She’s been in that skin, she’s felt those fingers inside her, and now she’s got the director’s cut, the extra angle. A heady moan builds in Villanelle’s throat, muted at first, but rising in intensity. Eve knows very well what that means. Sweat inches across her skin while she leans into her own hand, and Eve comes while she watches herself come.

Collapsing back onto her knees, Gemma exhales, “That was something.” Is Eve imagining it, or has her accent even shifted a bit? A little less English, a little more Russian. Everything’s getting stranger by the minute, but Eve has no desire to question it once both of the women on the couch turn and finally notice her presence.

“Guess we had a visitor sneak in,” Villanelle breathes as she pulls herself up into a sitting position on the couch. “Peeping is naughty. Don’t be a pervert.”

When she’s talked down to, a new fire blooms deep inside Eve. Her body’s speaking again, and it’s quite clear on what it wants, this time. And it seems to be aligned with what her girlfriends want. Villanelle holds up a finger and beckons Eve to come close. Eve slowly approaches, hypnotically pulled by her own face baiting her.

She looks down at Villanelle. She’s a mirror and also not, because Eve isn’t Eve. When she looks closely at that face, something in her eyes, Eve can still recognize as Villanelle. She leans in and presses their lips together. It feels good, which makes Eve feel ashamed, but that again sets her on fire, and she isn’t sure where the line is between what Eve-brain likes and what Gemma-body likes.

Before she knows it, she’s tumbling headfirst onto the couch in a pile of limbs between the three of them. Villanelle kissing her still, while strong hands appear from behind to unzip her dress. Gemma sets to work unhooking her bra, and Eve isn’t ready for it.

She thought she knew that relief before, but she knew _nothing_. Without even looking, she can feel the red marks on her shoulders and ribcage where the bra comes off and the blood starts to flow and she lets out an actual yelp at the release, a sound that’s foreign but familiar. She’s teased Gemma for making sounds like that before, but feeling this euphoria, how could she not?

For a few seconds, Eve experiences the pure bliss of her breasts exposes to the air, but then it’s replaced by the equally exhilarating sensation of attention. Villanelle takes Eve’s breasts in her hands and caresses them, then Gemma’s there behind, kissing her way along Eve’s neck, across her collarbone… God, she’s making great use of her extra height… and a moment later, she works her way down towards Eve’s chest, and takes a tit in her mouth.

Again, it’s same-different. The fundamental sensations are the same same, of course, Eve’s had breasts her whole life, but who knew that a little extra volume and a little extra weight could magnify things so much? While Villanelle and Gemma touch, and lift, and suck, Eve thinks she might pass out any second.

They take a moment to rearrange, so Eve falls back on the couch, with Villanelle holding her back. Then, Gemma sits above her. If Eve didn’t know better, she’d think it was really Villanelle staring her down. The look in her eyes is downright frightening.

“You killed someone today,” Eve whispers, and without even thinking about it, it comes out so much higher than her own voice.

“I did my job,” Gemma says. “And I’m about to do another one.”

She bends down and tears Eve’s panties aside. Actually rips them. Again, Eve cries out, on pure instinct. Then, she drags her hands up Eve’s legs, catching tiny runs in her stockings. It sends an electric shock up through Eve’s spine, and she convulses, almost wanting to push Gemma away, but Villanelle’s behind her, holding her arms back.

Gemma grabs Eve by the things and pulls them wide, then places her face on Eve’s pussy. In a way, this scenario should feel the most familiar, but like everything else today, it’s indescribably different. 

“You want it so bad, don’t you?” Villanelle hisses in her ear. “You little slut. You hate how much you love this.”

She’s right, and that fact sends Eve closer still to the edge. Villanelle’s so cruel, and it makes her squirm, but at the same time there’s Gemma below, holding steady, working her tongue through Eve’s folds.

“Yes,” Eve begs. Eve never begs, but _now,_ she begs. “More, please.”

“So greedy,” Villanelle murmurs. “Let’s see if you can handle more.” She shifts one hand down to tweak at Eve’s nipple. A twinge that’s as delightful as it is painful.

“Yes. More.”

“You’re greedy, and grumpy,” Villanelle spits. “And I didn’t want to say it before, but your accent sucks.”

And then, Gemma’s tongue is pressing hard against her clit, and Eve comes like she’s never come before. Back arching, head butting up against Villanelle’s torso, legs kicking out but held down in Gemma’s firm grip. It shakes her whole body like a tidal wave, then she collapses, like water against the sand. Spent.

Eve’s eyelids flutter, and the scene before her flickers. She can just make out Gemma sitting up and wiping her mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re already done,” she chuckles. “I could go at this forever.”

“Yes you could,” Villanelle purrs approvingly.

“I…” Eve tries to form words, but it takes a minute to reboot her brain. “I would love to. But I’m also starving.”

“Okay, food break,” Gemma says. “Then, upstairs.”

“Food and heating pad,” Villanelle mutters. “My back’s acting up again.”

* * *

Gemma wakes to a beam of sunlight, breaking through the gap in the curtains, as usual.

Today is Saturday, though, so she’s able to sleep in. And boy, does she need the rest after last night. She never realized just how much effort it took for Villanelle to do what she does in the bedroom, but the satisfaction that came with it was sublime. Gemma turns to her other side to try and drift off again…

And there’s no one on her other side. She’s woken up on the left side of the bed, again.

Nervously, she sits up, and lifts the blanket from her torso. She looks down to find that the body beneath her is her own.

Normally, she’d try not to wake Eve and Villanelle, of course, but it’s hard to contain herself as she runs her fingers over her arms, and legs, and through her hair.

“We’re back!” she squeals as Eve and Villanelle blink themselves awake. “At least, I’m back. Are you…?”

Villanelle sits up and touches her own face. “Oh, it’s good to be home. No offense, Eve. Your body is a temple, but my body is more like a gym.”

Eve just groans “Sleep,” and turns over. Gemma laughs. That’s definitely Eve. They both poke her until she finally gets up.

“What do you think did it?” Gemma says. “Was it the sex?”

“Maybe we all had to learn a lesson or something,” Eve mumbles. “Speaking of which…”

She climbs over towards Gemma and starts rubbing her back. “I am so, so, sorry. Your job is a nightmare. Your back pain is as bad as mine. You are stronger than any U.S. Marine.”

Gemma sighs in pleasure at Eve’s hands massaging her back. “I think I owe an apology too. Villanelle, I may never truly understand your job, but after having done it…”

Gemma thinks back to the previous day. Of watching the light drain from a man’s eyes right in front of her. Her stomach does somersaults at the mere thought.

“It’s certainly not for everyone, but it’s what you’re suited for, and there’s something special in that.”

“Apology accepted,” Villanelle says.

“Well?” Eve prompts. “It’s your turn to share.”

“I didn’t learn a lesson,” Villanelle mumbles. “I still think it was the sex that did it.”

Eve kicks her until she surrenders. “Okay, okay! I learned it is really hard to be old. I am sorry you are old, Eve.”

They end up laughing it off and slipping back under the warmth of the covers

“By the way, Gemma,” Eve says. “If you notice Robert and Stephen from your second period giving you a secret salute, just roll with it.”

Gemma’s too tired to question this. She just burrows closer to Eve and Villanelle. It’s comforting to be near them. To be almost one. But still separate. Back to normal.

“Last night was fun, though,” Villanelle mumbles while they’re pressed up into each other. “I wouldn’t mind finding that witch again some other time…”

Normal for now, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> body swap is so weird and i love it. it's also very hard to write. especially three ways. dear lord. but I had fun and that's what counts!
> 
> you can come chat about the wonders of gemillaneve and body swap trope with me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo


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